


Essence

by HopefulNebula



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Gen, POV Alternating, Stealth Crossover, Unconventional Style, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulNebula/pseuds/HopefulNebula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life, in the world of the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Essence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [finch (afinch)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afinch/gifts).



_You don't have to cross, you know._

_No, indeed, Traveller. You can stay right there if you wish to. It makes no difference to me._

_But you can't turn back, whichever direction you choose. When you leave this riverbank, one way or another, you won't be able to reach it again._

_It's no matter to me if you want to stay. Come. Watch carefully. Leave when you will, how you will._

* * *

Some people come quickly and quietly, showing naught but the slightest whisper of themselves.

Some people come laughing, greeting the Boatman as a long-lost friend. (Perhaps he is one. It's hard to tell.)

Some people come crying, screaming, wailing. There was a mistake. There has to have been a mistake. Do you have any idea who I am? It's always the same.

The boatman always does know. The Traveller can tell that. But who people _used to be_ isn't the kind of knowledge that's important here.

One person pulls herself up to her full height -- about up to the middle of the Boatman's shin -- and shouts at him while the boat fills up with people from all worlds. He doesn't say anything back.

She stops her tirade when the boat is completely hidden in the fog, but resumes as soon as the boat's bow is visible once again.

Three boat trips later, she quietly steps into the boat.

* * *

_Have you made your decision yet?_

_Or are you too busy watching?_

_I can't say I blame you. But you'll have to choose, sooner or later._

_You'll choose your direction, in time. And time works at its own pace, here._

* * *

The young woman and her companion arrive as part of a fairly large group. The companion may be carrying her, but the boatman isn't fooled. He knows who's really in charge.

(Not that it matters. They'll all end up either going with him, or not going anywhere at all.

Even with the recent upheaval, this will never change.)

"She doesn't speak," one of the group says. He's a mousy little thing, barely older than a boy, but strong. Accustomed to fighting for himself. "I heard people... ghosts... whatever... whispering about stories. And we've been in trouble before, for being different. We're not crossing unless you'll take us all."

"I take everyone who is both willing and able, child," the Boatman replies softly. "You are all welcome guests in my boat. And surely you must have noticed that not all the whispers you've heard have come from people who look like you?"

The young man and most of the group nod and murmur their assent.

"But you understood them, clear as you understand me now?"

More nods. More murmurs.

"That's how it is here. Every language is understood by all. Even yours," he says, nodding to the young woman, who smiles back at him.

* * *

_Persistent one, aren't you? Well, you know your options. Or you could walk farther along the water and meet some of my brethren, if you'd like some exercise._

_It isn't really a change of scenery, though. One and the same, we all are, though of different forms and different worlds._

* * *

Some people take longer than others to reach the water. They have to cross their own barriers before they can pass anyone else's. This one has been wandering around for a very long time.

The lines of worry and despair are evident on the man's ghost, even in death, even from a distance.

"Well, it's time, then," the man murmurs to himself, and shuffles slowly toward the boat and its oarsman.

The Boatman looks at the man, appraising, but never judging.

Only when the man looks directly at him does the Boatman tell him: "You were loved. Even though you didn't recognize it. I can always tell."

The man is still, but the lines in his spirit fade a little more.

"Even if I-- I did such a terrible thing," he says. "I knew it was terrible. I just needed to make things _better_ and the only way I could see was..."

The Boatman regards the man again. "You did what you felt you had to," he says. "Your life was a worthy one. Your work was worthy. You will be judged on your life, and not your death."

(There are no specifics in what he says. There never are; he can't perceive them. But after an eternity, he understands the various natures of the people he meets. And he is never wrong.)

The man relaxes a little more. He has more questions -- everybody has more questions -- but there are too many to ask and answer, so the Boatman leans down and whispers almost silently to him, exactly the words he needs to hear.

The man smiles for what is probably the first time in this world.

* * *

_It wasn't always like this. The work has always been the same, its essence used to be different._

_I was there when it changed. I helped it happen._

_The act of one heart breaking can sometimes save the world._

* * *

More and more of the dead smile at the Boatman as time passes, not out of defiance but out of something else. Not quite friendship. Not quite knowledge.

The smiles are ones of hope, perhaps. Of the idea that _what comes next_ is something they can face.

Some of the faces he meets are weary, ready for a new beginning. But with more time comes greater understanding. Perhaps that is an explanation. But there is something deeper within them. Something peaceful.

Some of the faces are young, still vigorous even after their bodies are gone. They carry on them fewer signs of tears now. They are less afraid. And more and more often, they are carried in the arms of those from other universes.

Different forms. Different minds.

But their souls are one and the same.

* * *

_There is a third path. It's never offered, only chosen. And only those who are truly suited can find it._

_Come. Sit._

_There is a boat for you._


End file.
